An Arrow In Flight (Seven Archangels Book 1)

by Jane Lebak

"I wouldn't expect you would have." Satan frowned. "But I remember his undivided heart, and it must have ripped him in half when you abandoned him."

  Gabriel's jaw tightened.

  "Since he's not here," Satan said, "I have only three options to consider. He could be angry at you for leaving him. He could be ashamed of what he perceives as your failure. Or you might have gotten disgusted with him when you decided servitude wasn't worth the bribes."

  Gabriel wrapped his hands in his overtunic.

  "If it's the first two, don't worry," Satan said. "He'll come back. Even in the third case, it's merely a matter of time. I'll help."

  Gabriel glared at him, his heart pounding. "You leave Raphael alone. I promise this: if you harm him or target him, you can forget about these pleasant nighttime conversations. I won't have anything to do with you if I find out, even once, that you approached him."

  Amused, Satan raised his hands as if to indicate surrender.

  He sat on the same rock as last night, and he studied Gabriel for a long while. Gabriel got to his feet and walked to the sheep. A moment later, although it continued drizzling, the rain stopped soaking into him, and his clothes grew dry. He looked over his shoulder at Satan, who shrugged.

  "I shouldn't have brought him up," Satan said. "I won't again."

  Gabriel bit back what he wanted to say.

  Satan said, "A human frame couldn't support your wings, could it?"

  The words came quicker, much easier than talking about Raphael. "The form would be top-heavy, structurally speaking, causing chronic low-level stress on the spinal column, and it would never fly anyhow. The bone structure is grounded in the wrong places, and the weight would exceed its capacity. At best, a solid angel would glide, and more likely plummet."

  Satan grinned, and Gabriel caught himself smiling too. His muscles had tensed involuntarily: that adrenaline again. He looked into Satan's eyes and then looked deeper, into his heart. A Seraphic flame danced in the depths of that shadow, the angelic part of him that kept captivating Gabriel's inner sight.

  A blush had risen over the mountains ahead of the sun. The clouds seemed to seal down the light, and everything else appeared in shades of grey and black. Satan looked toward the light at his side and then back again to Gabriel.

  Gabriel walked through the sheep, mentally keeping a tally of which were where and what they were doing. His legs got wet as he moved over the ground, but the rain continued avoiding him. As he walked, he sang, but his voice cracked when he tried to hit a high note.

  How mortifying. His angelic voice could have done it easily. He tried to keep singing, but then behind him, Gabriel heard music.

  He turned to find Satan playing the ten-stringed lyre.

  Satan met his eyes as he played, taking the song through its entire melody, weaving his Seraphic fire into the tune so it swirled about a Gabriel who listened transported. He could remember the last time he'd heard that lyre played by that hand, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach.

  Satan halted abruptly, leaving only the susurration of rain. "I didn't mean to stop you. You have a beautiful voice."

  Gabriel shook his head, scattering raindrops.

  "You had a beautiful voice in your rightful form," Satan said. "You hit notes I couldn't even think, and you made it sound simple. I loved playing for you. You made me sound better."

  Gabriel forced a smile. "Maybe I did."

  "Do go on," Satan said. "Even if it's just a concert for the sheep."

  Gabriel tucked his head, and rain ran down his neck. He kept his song to himself as he walked back to the animals.

  - + -

  No, no, no, no, no.

  Even I can't count the ways I mishandled things tonight. What am I thinking? Am I stupid?

  I don't want to leave God. I love God. I miss God. I don't want to leave Him. I want to go back. So what am I doing talking to his enemy? Why am I tolerating his presence? Why did I say he could continue coming to me if only he left Raphael alone?

  That music… I thought I'd never hear him play again. He wrote the most beautiful song I ever heard, back before the winnowing, but no one's played it since. You could hear his skill even tonight. With the fields so empty, it sounded like a concert in a theater, and the rain like applause. He still can do that.

  This is going to get back to them. Michael's going to hear about it. Zachary and Jacob's guardians aren't going to keep their mouths shut. They're going to tell everyone they come across that Satan is pursuing me, and that I'm listening. And they're going to want to shake me and ask me what on earth I'm thinking, and even I don't know what on earth I'm thinking, because I can say right now that I should tell him to go back to Hell and leave me alone, only I haven't done that. Not even once.

  Isolation makes up part of my punishment. Asking the other angels to stay might anger God. It might anger them. It might keep them from some more important work. I know they pity me, and they wouldn't leave if I told them how hard this is. I promised myself to bear up as best I could, but I never anticipated that I might seek out a companion in Lucifer. If that's what I'm doing.

  I could have called for help. I should have. But like a pathetic, paralyzed, hungry, shivering and lonely human being, I didn't react. Satan's a peer and a superior, and it feels so good to tease him and banter and converse on a level I know I can.

  I'm paralyzed. I don't know how to stop it. I don't know even if I want to. God, help me.

  Kislev 4

  God, my Father, I'm sorry about what happened last night.

  I need your help. I don't know what to do. I know what I should be doing, but I know I'm not doing it, not doing it right, and last night I gave him one hundred percent of everything he expected to get out of me.

  I wasn't prepared for him to show up that way. I figured there'd be a preamble, a "Hello" when I could turn and tell him to leave, but when he announced his presence by reciting epic poetry, I found myself intoxicated by his voice, his cadence, and the fact that the poem really was splendidly written in a language I hadn't heard for months—and then just when I gathered myself to interrupt him, the way he pre-empted me and said, "Isn't it dynamic how the writer sets up truth and beauty as diametric opposites?" and instead of saying, "Go away," I replied with, "The writer is setting them up as tropes, not opposites," and suddenly we were off. How long did we argue about metaphor, poetic structure, synecdoche, whether specific lines had been written with a certain symmetry to aid in oral translation of the poem from one poet to the next, and on and on…? And then he produced three competing versions of the same poem and spread them out, side by side by side, and he and I were side by side, poring over the different lines, pointing out where there were alterations and where some phrases were inexplicably the same through all the versions. It was like an intellectual orgasm.

  I can't think of anything more dangerous to me: an unbonded Cherub and an unbonded Seraph alone in the middle of the night with only a huge debate between us. And in the thick of it he said, "Are we going to argue like this when you're my co-regent?" and I didn't even pause, I just shot back with, "Only if you want to do things right," and he laughed out loud, and I laughed with him.

  By that point things had gone too far—he started asking questions and I engaged with them. What did you do? / Something stupid. / Is it forever? / No, just for a while. / Are you mad at Him? More and more personal, more detailed. It was only when he asked about Raphael that I stopped cold, because I could see Raphael's eyes in my mind and I knew if he were here, he'd have driven off Satan and then turned next on me: outraged, disbelieving, injured. I held that in my mind, and Satan changed the subject, but for a moment there, he had me completely. He got everything he tried to.

  I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and I don't know what to do. I can't even run away—he's going to find me. No matter where I go, what form I take, he's going to find me. Please stop him from coming back. Please give me the presence of mind to yell for Michael when he returns, or just send Michael anyhow, or
at least give me enough grace to say no. No, no, no, just repeat No until he leaves.

  I love you. But he keeps showering me with the things I want, and every time it's different so I'm not prepared. Please help me. I'm going to fall.

  - + -

  Gabriel exploded out of dreams, that first gasp as he reached for God and his heart closed on nothing, and then the search, the search again, and then the awful, awful, awful memory.

  He curled over himself, nauseated and defeated.

  "Wow," said Satan's voice. "Do you do that every time?"

  Gabriel groped for anything that resembled composure. "You had better have a good reason."

  "You called for me."

  Gabriel sat upright so quickly his heart pounded.

  Satan said, "Oh, you were dreaming? I thought you'd finally come to your senses. I wouldn't have disturbed you otherwise."

  Gabriel wrapped his arms around his legs and tucked down his head. That empty burn inside, that tingle from Satan's fire so close, and the simultaneous horror that in his dreams he might have called for someone and it might have been Satan. Might have. He could be lying. What did Zachary and Jacob think when he woke up this way? Where were they?

  Gabriel looked around: the sheep remained settled, but both Jacob and Zachary were out cold. "I need to wake up Jacob. It's his watch."

  "I'll shepherd for you."

  "Don't put yourself to any trouble." Gabriel scrambled to a stand. "Sheep are dull."

  "As are men. Gabriel, come with me."

  Satan touched his shoulder, sending an electricity straight to Gabriel's stomach. "I want you with me." Satan stepped closer. "You don't belong to this, with these flies on a dunghill. You need to be among your own kind, with those who appreciate you. Why must you limit your extreme abilities to forecasting the weather and singing to sheep? Sheep are stupid. You hadn't engaged in a decent conversation in weeks, and it's made a wreck of you. Come with me."

  Gabriel felt clumsy in the midnight air. No, there was no way he'd called Satan, no way that Jacob and Zachary had fallen asleep accidentally. This had to be a setup. Satan was spiritually battering him. But even now he only wanted sleep, and Satan demanded a decision.

  "You can't stay like this," Satan said. "You've lost your edge. I pity what you've become, but it isn't so late that you couldn't recover yourself. These things sleeping in the field don't care about you, and your former friends—where are they? Shouldn't they have come by now just to get rid of me? If God cared, wouldn't He intervene?" He waited as if for lightning, but none came. "I'm the only one who cares what you decide. I want you with me."

  Gabriel drifted like a leaf from whatever wakefulness he had achieved. "But you're lying."

  "Not this time."

  Gabriel closed his eyes, nearly sound asleep standing upright. It was so hard to think, so hard not to drift back into dreams. Keeping his eyes closed, he sat on the ground.

  "I mean it about offering you co-regency." Squatting beside him, Satan rested his hands on Gabriel's. "You'd be so useful to me that any loss of my own authority would be negligible. You don't have to have your own army. It can be your own library, your own research staff—anything you want. You want Seraph fire; I can give you Seraph fire. We can play music together. We can debate. We can invent whole systems of philosophy. You won't have to interact with anyone you don't choose to, but you can have one hundred percent access to me whenever you want. We have what you need, and it's what they refuse to give you any longer. Just give me one thing: give me a chance."

  Gabriel pulled back, shaking his head.

  "You're not the angel you were." Satan for the first time brought a sharpness into his voice. "You're playing with half-measures, breaking your own bones. You try to be human while not letting go your angelic self, standing with two continents drifting apart beneath your legs. The strain will tear you in pieces, Gabriel. Nothing can survive midway. If you have to pretend to be a man, then you need to do it the whole way, but you can't. Your soul is as angelic as they get, and our kind don't sit well in flesh. We surpass them in every way. Even in a body, you hold onto your angelic nature. Therefore hold it completely and stay with me, either as my guest or as my prince."

  Gabriel wouldn't open his eyes. "No."

  Satan's voice darkened. "This halfway-house of a body you're wearing doesn't make you any more a human being than I am. Oh, you breathe and piss like a human, but where does that get you?"

  "No."

  Satan leaned closer, his breath alighting every one of Gabriel's raw nerves. "You're lowering yourself to the level of a lizard for no reason. You're degrading our whole species, and that nauseates me. These treeless monkeys think you're strange, detached, and hardly trustworthy. They all know you're not really a monkey. They just haven't figured out what."

  Gabriel's jaw tightened. "No."

  "Isn't being your full self better than wasting half your life sweating and eating?" Satan said. "You're shameful to be with."

  "Then go away!" Gabriel leaped to his feet and towered over Satan for a moment until Satan stood too, a head taller and with wings flared.

  "I'll take you with me!"

  "No!"

  Satan tried to speak again, but then he stopped, just stopped. And in the next moment, eyes livid, he filled the air with fire. "You Fatherless wretch! Get used to feeling lonely, because it's permanent."

  And then – nothing. He was gone.

  Gabriel stood trembling. That was it. No poetry, no philosophy, no banter…Satan wouldn't appear in person for a long time, if ever. An urge to call him popped into Gabriel's throat, but he whispered, "No."

  The cool air prickled his skin and he concentrated on that, on the sound of the flock breathing and the expansion of his own lungs. Let the senses distract him from the temptation. He didn't bother waking the other shepherds. Instead he walked among the sheep.

  Dear Father, thank you. I couldn't have… Thank you.

  Kislev 5

  Watching the sun rise, Gabriel combed every aspect of that exchange, Satan's every gesture and projection. He analyzed the emotional manipulation and the tactics. He ran through his every possible response, and on balance, "No" had been pretty effective. But he flinched whenever he remembered those words like knives.

  Get used to feeling lonely, because it's permanent.

  If God cared, wouldn't He intervene?

  Shameful to be with.

  Shameful. Of course he should be ashamed. He spent thousands of years telling everyone to obey the law and then he didn't do what God told him to do. If the angels weren't ashamed to be with him, that was to the credit of their charitable natures. But God would be ashamed of him by now, certainly. He was trapped. He'd come down here to help people, and instead he was with a pair of shepherds whom he couldn't make care about the Law. Given that, how could he possibly make up for what he'd done?

  And last night – what if he hadn't actually rejected Satan enough? What if he'd flirted with evil too long, or if he'd crossed the line into sin and just didn't know it? If he'd hesitated too long? Why would God ever trust him to work with His creatures again?

  He ate his morning bread and tried to talk logic to himself: God had given him the grace to say no. That's not what God would do to someone who'd sold his soul. This residual fear was just a temptation. Of course, God still might never entrust any task to him again, ever. But not because of last night.

  As the sun climbed, Gabriel mentally tallied the sheep and then walked to the far end of the flock to gather up some stragglers. He talked so they'd follow, keeping his voice low and calm.

  "I don't know that I'm entirely nauseating," Gabriel said, and one of the sheep butted its head on his leg. He rubbed it behind the ears. "I'm nauseating to Satan, but I'd probably be that regardless. He was tactically flawless last night – almost. But he tipped his hand."

  He had three ewes following now at the bottom of the hill, with Zachary and Jacob at the top. He could hear their chatter just as well
as he could feel the grass brushing against his legs and smell the dirt in the sheep fleeces. Too much sensory feedback. "That's been the wedge he used to get at me. I can't be all these things at the same time and still be what's important. It leaves the gate wide open for Satan to parade through."

  One of the ewes started pulling up grass, and Gabriel let her. There was no hurry to get back to the rest, and what was up there for him anyhow?

  "I'm not one of the Seven anymore," Gabriel said, "but I'm still an angel. I'm not a human, but I'm still a son of God. And I'm not supported by my friends, but I'm not without allies. Or am I?"

  Another ewe came up beside him, so Gabriel sat on the grass and looked at her at eye-level. She nuzzled him, and he rubbed her face. "I can't be a demi-god and shepherd for the rest of the year. Satan nearly got me, and I can't let that happen again. If the problem is having a split nature, then I have to un-split it."

  Go home. Be an angel again. A useless appendage to the Heavenly Host, but safe while he ran out the clock.

  Or, go the other way.

  Gabriel shuddered. At the top of the hill, Zachary said something low and Jacob laughed out loud. The sun gleamed off a rock. One of the sheep bleated.

  Gabriel took a deep breath, feeling the full stretch of his ribcage and diaphragm, and then he submerged the rest of his angelic heart.

  It hurt at first – no, not hurt, more like the deer stripping the bark from the tree again, only this time he was stripping his own bark. Instead of his senses sharpening, they dulled. The light dimmed and he couldn't hear Zachary any longer, couldn't feel the angels at the top of the hill, couldn't smell the flowers past the scent of the sheep. He worked his fingers down into the sheep fleece and closed his eyes because of the questions, the things he didn't know, the things he couldn't predict and would have to guess. The smallness. He hadn't expected to feel small.

  "Gabriel!"

  He startled, looked up the hill. Three people now, not two. He hadn't heard the third approach, and he should have. No, he shouldn't have. He shouldn't ever have been able to do that. He didn't know who the third person was, and that was the way it should be for a man.